Turiel expected Maluven to visit her shortly after his return as messenger from Rivendell. She did not, however, expect him to look quite so impish, hopping up to sit on a branch above her talan and leaning forward with a far too knowing look in his eye and a teasing smile on his face.
"Well met, Turiel," he sang into the midday warmth.
"Maluven, welcome back," she said, trying to affect a casual air. "How was your journey?"
"Most informative. I learned something new about some of our friends in Rivendell."
"Oh?" She busied herself pouring him some water from a pitcher.
"Well, one friend in particular," he said. "You might remember him—an Elf named Pedirion."
"Of course," Turiel said, and brought him the full cup. "Here you are. You must be parched from the road."
Maluven gaped, and the elleth merely sat down on the floor of her talan again, humming as she resumed her task of shelling walnuts.
"You are impossible!" he cried, realizing she would not be baited. "How can it be that you would not ask after him, when you have his heart entirely in your keeping? The poor ellon!"
Turiel looked up sharply, curiosity in her gaze. "Maluven," she said calmly, "I have long known he finds me interesting. But I think it too much to say I have his heart."
"Shame on you, Turiel," the soldier scolded, jumping down to stand before her. "I have not heard it said that the Silvans are blind. If you will not give him your love, then give him your pity, at least."
"Pedirion has no need for pity," she countered. "I like him well enough, and he knows as much."
Maluven frowned, staring at his companion in displeasure for long moments. "Well, here." At last, he pulled a roll of parchment from his tunic and handed it to her.
"You should have seen him, Turiel," he mused. "He took such care in appearing diplomatic as his liege lord would wish, but there was such desperation in his eyes when he approached me the morning I was to leave Rivendell. 'Good Maluven,' he said, 'may I impose upon you to carry one more letter?' And his hands trembled when he gave that to me. 'Of course, friend,' I told him. 'To whom shall I take it?' And his voice softened, and there came a tender smile to his lips, and a tremulous hope. 'To Turiel, the mistress of the messenger birds,' he said."
Turiel listened in silence, holding the letter firmly.
"He asked after your project, then," Maluven continued. "I told him it was going well, that the birds are learning more every day, and that soon, there would be no need of Elves to carry letters between you. And Pedirion said, 'I hope indeed that soon we would have no need of her marvelous birds, either.' And it seemed that he wished to flee immediately and either scream out his frustration or sing out loud in hope, because his letter would soon reach you, though he would not."
Turiel studied the paper in her hands. "I like him well enough," she repeated distantly.
Maluven sighed. "I believe Pedirion would readily cut his ties to Rivendell and make the Greenwood his home, if you were to make the suggestion," he offered.
Turiel furrowed her eyebrows, considering. After a while, she said, "I will think on it, my friend."
The soldier smiled with satisfaction. "I will leave you, now, to your letter."
"Thank you, Maluven," Turiel said earnestly.
He saluted casually and jumped back into the trees.
Turiel was somehow reluctant to open the roll of parchment, as she never had been previously. She admitted to herself that in the two and a half years since she had seen Pedirion last as part of the envoy attending the Elvenking's wedding to Elluin, he had come often into her thoughts. Turiel had always swiftly abandoned those thoughts, though, not wishing to build a house out of piles of shifting sand, likelier to crumble than to stand. She had kept his other letters, always quaint in her eyes with their poems in praise of her virtues, and shy hints of his feelings. But until her conversation with Maluven, she had never truly believed that he was not like Lindir—a flirt, openly speaking of his admiration of any number of ellith. She had thought herself a temporary fascination for Pedirion, soon to be ignored once he had become sufficiently acquainted with her unfamiliar Silvan ways. But now…
She steeled herself, and opened the letter.
Dearest Turiel,
May Elbereth's stars shine brightly upon you as you read this letter. Forgive me for once again setting my thoughts to verse, but you have not yet objected, and you inspire such song in my heart that it has found no other form sufficient.
My thoughts are bent toward you, fair maid
As my hands are too far away
And since I hold only a pen, for now
I write to you today
I wonder what an Elf like you
Must think of an Elf like me
Of no particular talent or skill
When many are found within thee
Would you accept my temperate heart
When yours is so wild and free?
Would you ever think of sharing that home
Where you sing in the old birch tree?
I long to hear your songs once more
As they float between the leaves
For your presence is a joy divine
And my heart, for lack of you, grieves
I would see you soon, my dear
Beneath the swaying boughs
And tell you of my love for you
As long as fate allows
For I would stop my suit of you
If only you command
But if I had my dearest wish
You would grant me, love, your hand
And never would I bind you
But rejoice in your free ways
And share in them with you, I hope
For all our many days
Would you send me a reply, fair maid
By bird or running steed?
I'd be content if by thought alone
You meet me in my need
For I would know your thoughts, my dear
If they stray to me at all
Or if your heart is moved to song
In answer to my call
I wait for thee, I long for thee
I sing to thee alone
And long for the day when you might say
You take me for your own
Turiel, I do not request an answer. I know you to be an elleth who makes her mind known, and you will tell me what you think when you have made it up. I have inherited the patience of my sires. Should I receive word, sooner or later, that you desire my presence as much as I do yours, I will only need a moment to gather my things and beg a horse and the leave of my lord, and I will come to you. If you should say you desire me not, or if you send no word, I will still insist on accompanying any contingent from Rivendell to Greenwood, for there my heart lies. And there I will seek you out with no expectation but to behold your face again, until a time may come when you should desire aught else of me.
With patience for your love, and hope for your enduring joy among the trees beneath the stars,
Pedirion
Turiel stared long at the words. Then the chirp of a bird nearby woke her from her trance. At once, she jumped up, knowing exactly what she needed.
~.~.~
Elluin accepted another ledger from Bronadis. "There is a surplus of wool again, my queen," the clerk mentioned.
"The Men of the plains will be grateful for it come winter," Elluin muttered, looking over the tallies. The Elvenqueen's office was hushed for a moment, with only the cheery sound of servants singing in the nearby kitchens to break the silence. "Ah, but so will we," she said eventually. "The linen counts are less than I feared."
"Why do we have so much less linen this year?" Bronadis could not help but ask.
"A natural dam broke up the mountain slope from one of the flax fields soon after it had sprouted, and the plants drowned," Elluin explained. "Edlenel was the most distraught over the news, I think. No new gowns for the Elvenqueen this year."
The ellith shared an amused smile. Bronadis was prevented from commenting when Naudeth scuttled in.
"My queen, Turiel is without. She requests—"
"Send her in, Naudeth," Elluin replied immediately, rising from the seat behind her desk.
The body servant obeyed and soon Turiel walked in. It only took one look at her friend's face for Elluin to determine that official business was concluded for the afternoon.
"Dear friend, what is it?"
Turiel shook her head slightly, still somewhat bewildered. "I think…" She raised her hand, where she still clutched the letter. After a moment, she looked up again at Elluin. "May we speak?"
"Of course," Elluin replied, taking her friend's arm. "Let us go to my chambers."
"The—the king's chambers?"
"The king's and mine," Elluin confirmed.
Turiel was unable at that moment to protest, accepting her friend's lead as they wound their way along the wooded path and up the steps to the royal talan with Naudeth soon coming up behind them with a tray of tea. They settled in the receiving room on comfortable couches as Naudeth served them and quietly disappeared.
"Tell me what ails you, Turiel," Elluin finally said with an assessing look. "You do not look entirely distressed, but it is apparent you are upset."
"Pedirion of Rivendell sent me a letter," the Silvan elleth said at last. "He wishes to wed me."
Elluin's face lit up for a moment before sobering into curiosity. "He had expressed his affection in many of his letters to you over the past several years. Does it displease you that his regard has grown to love?"
"Yes! No! I—" Turiel heaved a sigh and set her face in her hands.
"Oh, has your heart not yet decided?" Elluin ventured.
Turiel looked up at her friend and spoke in a quiet voice, as if fearing the words. "I think that it will, once I let it. And then…he will have it."
Elluin smiled. "I suppose this is much to get used to." She put a comforting hand on her companion's shoulder. "Pedirion is a patient ellon, I believe. You have the liberty of allowing your heart all the time it needs to make its decision."
"Do I?" Turiel stared at the ground. "No, Elluin, I think… I think I am already lost, and will remain so until—"
The door to Thranduil's dressing room opened and the Elvenking strode into the room wearing his training leathers, Gaelang sheathed at his side.
"Ladies," he greeted casually with a fond nod of his head.
"Ah, good afternoon, husband," Elluin said, a grin spreading on her lips.
Turiel remained frozen for another moment in surprise before jumping to her feet to bow.
Thranduil quickly gestured for her to sit down again. "No need for that, Turiel. If you come into our quarters at Elluin's invitation," he said, intentionally using his wife's name instead of her title, "then you may be at your ease. Forgive my intrusion—I just came to fetch my sword."
"Will I see you after training?"
"Perhaps," he said, lifting Elluin's hand for a kiss as he walked by. "Though I may be delayed. In his letter to me, Lord Elrond mentioned that he wished to gift us with a few books from his collection that he believed would be useful in the Greenwood, and that the industrious members of his household would likely copy many more for him to send at regular intervals. I am obliged to retain a librarian, but I find that among our own folk, there are few with the patience required for searching through and organizing works that may not be of immediate perceived benefit."
Turiel gawked at the Elvenking as he continued walking and stopped at the door.
"I will discuss the matter with Galion," he concluded mildly. "But if either of you have any recommendations, I would willingly entertain them. Good afternoon to you."
The ellith murmured their farewells. Once the door shut behind the Elvenking, Elluin turned an expectant face toward Turiel, who frowned.
"That was entirely too convenient not to have been contrived," she accused. "Pedirion would obviously make an excellent librarian."
"Perhaps Lord Elrond made mention of Pedirion's wish to come to Greenwood in his letter to Thranduil?"
Turiel set her hands on her knees with a slap. "Is the decision then made for me?"
"Not in the least," Elluin soothed. "I actually have a few other candidates in mind for the position who would do very nicely—a healer's assistant named Harfedir, for one. He has an affinity—"
"No!" Turiel protested before she could stop herself.
Her companion took a sip of tea to hide a smirk.
Turiel studied the wrinkled edges of the letter she still held. "I suppose I've made my own decision," she concluded somberly.
The silence lasted for a few breaths before they met each other's eyes again, and collapsed into exhilarated giggles.
~.~.~
Gaelang shivered in the aftermath of a mighty crash, the sound still ringing across the training grounds for a long moment. Its twin, Tauglang, swung again without hesitation. Despite the exertion of the past hour, each impact was as powerful as the first, though the breaths of their bearers came quickly and sweat gleamed on their skin.
At last, by unspoken mutual agreement, they stepped back from each other. The abrupt shift from clanging blades and flurrying movements to panting stillness momentarily drew the attention of the few soldiers in their own sparring matches and drills on the grounds. Seeing that the king was well, however, caused them to withdraw their gazes again quickly. They had learned to avoid looking at the Silent Guards as much as possible in respect for their peculiar but prestigious position.
Nidhair tugged off his gloves to smooth a hand over his earth-colored hair and shook out his long limbs before sheathing Taulang. "Good match, sire," he ventured.
"Indeed, captain," said Thranduil enthusiastically, still catching his breath as he examined Gaelang's edges for notches. "Perhaps someday one of us will best the other."
"But not today," Nidhair said with a smirk.
They strolled to a bench beside the barracks, and Sulros jogged up to hand them both a waterskin and handkerchief before disappearing.
"Nidhair, how are you enjoying your new position?" Thranduil asked.
"Very well," he answered. "My queen is adventurous enough to keep us busy, but sensible enough not to make it a burden, as you have no doubt observed, sire. I daresay we now visit much more beautiful places in Greenwood than we ever did when we were assigned to you."
"I can imagine," the king said with a tender smile. "I did not think she would continue to bring me flowers so frequently. I also find it most diverting when we go together into the woods."
"I was meaning to ask," Nidhair ventured, "since we do not have much news from inside the palace—how are you two managing to spend so much time out among the trees?"
Thranduil cast him a sidelong glance. "Delegation, captain," he said. "Elluin first had her body servant, Naudeth, help her offer redistribution of duties within the palace. There are many people now doing work to which they are better suited, and they perform their duties more efficiently. Her clerks are now also now so well trained that they are able to run the household almost without any interference from Elluin. There were fewer problems for her to solve, then, in that domain, and less time needed to plan and take stock of things.
"Then she had my aunt and Lady Lairien recommend similar changes among the duties assigned to council members. I was uncertain, at first, especially since the new Silvan advisors did not have much experience with tasks on such a large scale. But they were mostly effective. Council meetings are now less tedious, as the various members were assigned specific types of problems to deal with as each deems fit before it even reaches the council. I simply review the reports as they come in. The meetings themselves are dedicated to solving more complex issues, and given the number of us, there is a wider variety of ideas from which to find solutions."
"And more ideas voiced to oppose them," the captain guessed.
"True," Thranduil conceded. "But, since there is less to discuss, the meetings are still over more quickly."
"I am glad of the queen's resourcefulness," Nidhair said earnestly, leaning back with a sigh. "The other guards and I have hardly any need of training anymore to keep up our skills, so often are we out."
"Oh?" Thranduil lifted a brow.
Nidhair smirked. "A jest, sire. You know we never cease honing our skills."
"I would not say 'never,'" Thranduil said with a mischievous smile.
Nidhair chuckled with a shake of his head. "As you say, sire. I do not possess the impertinence to gainsay you in your wisdom."
Now it was Thranduil's turn to laugh.
Since they had recovered completely from their sparring match, they rose and walked a little further into the trees, leaping into its branches. The less Nidhair was seen, the better for everyone.
It suddenly struck Thranduil, swinging a leg over one of the boughs, that he felt even more comfortable with the captain now than he had before. Considering this, he realized it was because Nidhair was largely no longer under his command. He was the queen's bodyguard, requiring no further orders and reporting to no one. Only occasionally did he approach Cembeleg if, during the course of his duties, he noticed something in the forest that its protectors needed to know—and in turn, Cembeleg only called for Nidhair when there was some information to be shared that would impact him in his duties. And while Nidhair was familiar with the role of leadership, commanding the other four ellyn in the Silent Guard, he had no authority over any other of Thranduil's subjects.
Thranduil watched absently as Nidhair settled his sheathed sword at his side, leaning his back against the tree trunk. His father had given Tauglang to Nidhair long ago. A flood of Orcs had come up from the south to attack the villages surrounding their fortress at Amon Lanc a few decades before the Siege of Barad-dur. Then a soldier of middle rank, Nidhair had led a desperate charge against the Orcs with only five other ellyn, holding them off long enough for another soldier to flee back and call for reinforcements. Nidhair was the sole survivor of that patrol, and such was his valor and his skill in the protection of the realm that Oropher had rewarded him with the blade he now carried, forged long ago from ore mined in the very mountain of Menegroth.
Thranduil himself received Gaelang from his father many years before, when he had been crowned as the Prince of the Greenwood. He felt, now, that Oropher had perhaps shown some foresight in gifting the twin blades as he had. Perhaps, knowing the loneliness that was likely to follow a prince among Elves, he had known that Thranduil could find a friend in Nidhair.
The Silvan turned his brown eyes toward his king curiously. "I have seen that look before, sire. It appears that you have reached some sort of epiphany."
Thranduil cocked his head. There was another thing—Nidhair was already so familiar with every mood of Thranduil's, having observed him closely for hundreds of years as part of his duties. It would be rather simple…
"Nidhair, there are few people with whom I can speak openly without impacting the fate of the kingdom in some way. You are a unique example."
The ellon furrowed his brows and set his fists at his waist, considering the king with shrewd eyes. "True, sire."
"You have seen me at my most guarded, and when I've dropped my guard completely, and all the spaces in between."
"Indeed."
"Would you, then, consider dropping formality between us?"
Nidhair blinked in surprise, and stared at the Elvenking, whose eyes were hopeful and vulnerable. At last, he spoke, his own gaze warm. "I would like that, Thranduil."
They shared a pleased smile before returning their contemplation to the canopy. Then the Silvan sighed dramatically. "I suppose now that we are friends, there is nothing stopping me from defeating you in our next sparring session."
"What? Were you holding back?" Thranduil asked incredulously, sitting up straight and sounding almost as if he wished to demand an immediate rematch.
Nidhair shrugged, and Thranduil gaped at him for a long moment until the Silvan burst into laughter. The Elvenking merely frowned.
"Do not worry," Nidhair said, still recovering from his mirth. "You can trust me not to hold back. There is time yet for one of us to prove the greater."
Thranduil shook his head, his good humor quickly returning. He lifted Gaelang in its sheath, the band about his forefinger glittering at the hilt. So much tragedy had befallen him since receiving the sword, but he had also gained much. He felt, somehow, that more good things were coming.